


To Win A King

by NovemberMurray



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Badass Cara Dune, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Din Djarin Deserves Nice Things, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Crack and Angst, Forced Marriage, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Mand'alor the Reluctant, Marriage of Convenience, Possibly the beginning of Friends to Lovers, Written on a Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28845912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberMurray/pseuds/NovemberMurray
Summary: Bo-Katan has worked every political angle she can to arrange this marriage because if she can't win the Darksaber from Din Djarin she is going to make sure to be right beside him to pick it up the moment he stumbles. Of course the one thing she didn't count on was Din's friends taking maters into their own hands, she didn't count on Carasynthia Dune.Cara finds a way to keep Din out of a political marriage to Bo-Katan, by challenging Bo-Katan for the Mand'alor's hand in marriage.Wrote this on a dare.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Cara Dune, Din Djarin/Cara Dune
Comments: 38
Kudos: 159





	To Win A King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nanyin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanyin/gifts).



> Nanyin challenged me to "find a way to have Din marry Cara. Bo-Katan couldn't beat him so she tries to politically force him to marry her instead. You know creating strong clan ties or whatnot. I see Cara beating the snot out of her thus to the victor goes the spoils." 
> 
> This is my response. 
> 
> I have a hard time seeing Cara and Din as a couple, partly because I think Cara is probably lesbian or at least bi. She and Din have such a good friendship in the show. But maybe things could change between them: let me know in the comments what you think.

It’s two in the afternoon and Din Djarin, Mand’alor the Reclaimer, leader of the most feared culture of warriors and hunters in the galaxy, latest in a legacy stretching back thousands of years, is hungover on his wedding day. But by the Manda and the Stars and the _shabla_ Force he barely believes in, he _wishes_ he were drunk again. He wishes this terrible day was a dream. The pounding in his head gets worse when the doors of the throne room open and the contingent of Clan Kryz and their allies enter, Bo-Katan at their lead in polished and freshly painted armor, helmed head held high. She looks every bit like a Mandalorian bride should. 

Every reason this is a bad idea flits through Din's mind like a holofilm on the fritz. He and Cara had gone over all of them, and more ridiculous alternative options, the night before over far, far too many drinks late into the evening, until it was too early to be called late and neither of them were coherent. 

No. There was no other option. 

* * *

“Clan Sar wanted me to marry their leader’s eldest daughter in three months,” Din had told Cara, his words already slurred. “In three months when she turns 16.”

They sat back to back on his living room floor because, though he’d broken away from the Children of the Watch and their strict Creed, he wasn’t comfortable with showing his face often. Cara didn’t care. She didn’t need to see his face before; she doesn’t now.

“Fuck! That’s messed up,” Cara had said and he could feel her shaking her head, her hair brushing the back of his neck and shifting his own curls. It made him shudder uncomfortably at the strange feeling. “How old would you have been when Bo-Katan was your age?”

Din hadn’t answered her, which was answer enough, just knocked back what was in his cup and reached for the bottle to refill it.

* * *

The Mand’alor gets up from the throne he despises and steps forward to meet his bride. She doesn’t wait for him to invite her up on the dais, just saunters forward without pause, coming to stand across from him, the throne between them. That’s how it has always been: rulership of Mandalore driving a wedge between the two warriors since the day they met. Din wants to do what he believes is right, and Bo-Katan wants to do what she believes is best for Mandalore. If only those two goals weren’t at odds so often he might have even liked her. 

* * *

“That’s going a bit far,” Cara had said when he told her that the previous evening. “She’s bitchy. She’s self important. She demands everyone's attention _always!_ She’s like… anti-you, or… the… the…”

“Opposite?” Din had offered, worrying Cara was drinking too much too fast.

“That. Opposite of you. You’re all patient and ‘don’t mind me’ and… and you listen to other people’s problems, you know? You _know_ these people: what they want, what they hope for, what they fear. You listen; she just demands.”

“She’s a good fighter, charismatic, confident--”

“And ruthless and arrogant.”

“She cares about Mandalore.”

“She cares about _her_ Mandalore. You care about Mandalorians--about people.”

“Maybe this planet needs both.”

“No. This planet needs _you_. That’s why no one else has challenged you for the Darksaber. That’s why, when Bo-Katan did, all the clans put forward champions to stop her. Goddesses, it must have rankled her to have to eat those words. This farce of a marriage is just her last ditch effort to unseat you.”

“It’s about uniting our people.”

“Maybe for the rest of her clan, but for her it’s about winning.” 

That was why Din was so immensely glad Cara had come to spend that last evening of bachelorhood with him: she would say the things he was convincing himself not to say. She could be outraged for him when he wouldn’t allow himself to be. She would consider what was best for Din--not the Mand’alor--just plain old, no-helmet, brown-eyed, cries-in-his-sleep, loves-his-child Din. So immensely glad and eternally grateful.

* * *

But the time had come to pay the dues and take the hand that fate had dealt him. Despite still wearing her helmet Din can see Bo-Katan is smirking, something about the set of her shoulders and the tip of her head. 

“If any would challenge this union, make your claim,” the Mand’alor’s Prime Minister calls over the crowded room. One by one the gathered clan leaders nod their helmets in silent approvals, some grudgingly, some readily, some dispassionately, just as Din knew they would.

“I object!”

All the helmets in the room turn to the uncovered head of dark hair standing above most others as Carasythia Dune pushes her way through the crowd, broad shoulders knocking back anyone foolish enough not to clear her way. 

“On what grounds, Marshall of the New Republic, do you object?” Prime Minister Wren demands in her sharp commanding voice.

“This woman doesn’t care a womp rat’s ass about your Mand’alor,” Cara motions at Bo-Katan as she stalks up to the foot of the dais. “Any marriage vows from her would be lies. Your leader deserves someone trustworthy.” 

“Like who?” Bo-Katan sneers.

“Like me. I’ve pulled him out of fire and danger more than once, even saved his son. If anyone is marrying him today, it’s me!” Cara steps up on Bo-Katan’s level, pushing Din out of the way. He stumbles back, stunned, to stand in front of the throne between the two women as they face off. Din grabs Cara’s arm, squeezing sharply and studying her face hard.

“What are you doing?” he whispers to her fiercely. 

“Do you trust me?” she mutters back, lips almost not moving. Din can see her face is set and her eyes are lucid. 

“Yes,” he breathes cause he’s damnably honest.

“How dare you,” Bo-Katan hisses, helmet shifting as she looks between them.

“Oh, nice guy like him, he wouldn’t,” Cara says. Now she’s the one smirking. “This is all me, _Princess_.” 

“How would you defend this claim?” the Prime Minister asks loudly for the whole room to hear.

“He’s the Mand’alor,” Cara says, vicious gleam in her eyes. “The Mandalorian way: combat.”

Din doesn’t get halfway through a protest because Bo-Katan replies immediately.

“I accept!” And there is so much prideful rage in her voice.

“Don’t--Cara! Don’t do this.”

“Relax, Mando,” she flashes him a smile and a wink. “What’s the worst she can do?”

 _Kill you!_ Din thinks immediately. 

* * *

That’s exactly what Bo-Katan tries to do. Watching the fight is torture. The two warriors make a battlefield of the garden below the throne room balcony. Din watches from above with his hands gripping the durasteel railing so hard he thinks he’ll have bruises. Maybe the fight is fast, maybe not. For him it feels like an eternity. Cara drops over and over. Each time she gets back up to throw Bo-Katan down just as hard with matching fury. Until finally, finally, finally…

Bo-Katan doesn’t get back up. 

She struggles, one hand on the ground trying to raise herself up.

“Yield,” Cara says, not loud enough for Din to hear but he can read her lips.

Bo-Katan responds by lurching halfway to her feet with a fist pulled back. Cara kicks the Mandalorian woman in the chest, slamming her back down, helmet hitting the dirt hard. And Bo-Katan stops moving. 

Cara is breathing heavy as she comes up the stairs towards Din. She’s swaying a bit on her feet, limping slightly from a sharp blow that caught her left knee. Her lip is split and bleeding down her chin, her hands are a mess and her hair is damp with sweat. She stops a few feet in front of the Mand’alor. 

Vaguely Din hears his Prime Minister asking if he acknowledges Cara’s claims and accepts her victory. Cara just stares at his visor like she can see right through it, and she dares him. 

Din pulls off his right glove smoothly with a tug and holds out the bare hand. Cara takes it, warm skin on skin. He can feel blood from her knuckles running over and between his fingers.

“ _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi bajuri verd_ ,” he says the vow and Cara repeats it back, too smoothly to be anything other than practiced. 

_Damn,_ he thinks, _she planned this. When? Why?_

“Oya!” the assembled crowd cheers wildly and Din flinches. Cara--his wife--smirks.

* * *

It’s hours before they make it back to his rooms, doors shut firmly behind them and guards told clearly to stay out of earshot and not to enter for anything. Of course they misunderstand. Din can see it in the way they share a glance, visors tipping ever so slightly towards each other.

Just knowing they think he and Cara are going to _consummating_ their marriage makes Din’s skin crawl. His mind rebels against even picturing such an act. He slams the doors hard after the guards leave.

“What the hell was that?” Din rounds on Cara, just shy of yelling.

Cara is ambling around his living room--their living room?-- and picking a bottle from the liquor cabinet as if this is just another casual visit, as if she didn’t just challenge a Mandalorian Clan Leader for his _hand in marriage_ , as if she didn’t just _marry_ him.

“You needed someone you could trust and I needed to be able to return to my job without worrying when that snake would turn around and stab you in the back with your fancy laser sword.”

“This is serious, Cara. You just--”

“So am I,” she turns around to look at him and there’s no trace of humor in her face. “I don’t trust her. Not with your life.”

“It’s my life to ri--”

“Ours.” Cara corrects him with a raised finger.

“What?”

 _“Mhi me’dinui an_? We share all right, lives included,” she shrugs and fills a glass from the bottle.

Din has a terrible sinking thought that sits in his gut like a hunk of ice: _Does she want more? Does she want… something romantic with_ ** _me?_** It’s almost too ridiculous to imagine but… but he’d missed obvious things before. He isn’t always the best judge of these kinds of things. His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth when he tried to put his question into words. They came out stuttered and broken:

“Is… is that what you want? You want to… you want… me?”

“What like… like sex?” Cara turns around to look at him wide eyed. “No!” 

Din’s rush of relief is visceral. 

“No,” Cara goes on, walking over to one of the large windows that looked out over Sundari. “I want you to keep breathing and rebuilding your planet of crazy whack-jobs. I want you to keep running away to visit your kid on Coruscant at that Jedi school. I want to drop in on you unexpectedly and raid your surprisingly well stocked liquor cabinet.”

 _Ok_ , Din thinks, _that’s ok. She’s still my friend. I just married my friend who definitely doesn’t want anything romantic to do with me. So she’s stuck with an overworked, emotional wreck of a husband who can’t do fuck all for her. Why would she do that? What would possess her to tie herself to the fucked up state of my life? Pity? Charity? Some hero complex?_ Each option was worse than the previous.

“ _Shab. Shabi’an._ Fuck!” Din sits down heavily on an armless couch, drops his helmeted forehead into his hands, his neck too tired and bent by the weight of events to hold up the heavy beskar. He and Cara are quiet for a long time.

Outside the dim sounds of the continuing celebrations reached them, muffled by distance and transparisteel.

“Her name was Analira,” Cara says, quiet and somber now, staring out the window.

“Who?” Din asks confused.

“My wife. Her name was Analira. She was probably asleep when the planet went; it was night where we lived. Or she was sitting up reading with a glass of corellian wine. But I hope she was sleeping. I hope it was fast--too fast for her to know what was going on--too fast to be afraid--to think of me.”

“I--I didn’t know…” Din chokes on the words.

“Yeah. Well. I’m not really moving on very quickly so you’re--this is--not standing in the way of anything. And if you find someone--the right someone--we can get divorced.” Cara shrugs. “Till then Bo-Katan and anyone else trying to worm their way onto the arm of your throne can go fuck themselves.”

Din stares at her for a long time until she becomes a blurry blob of colors in his vision. He rips the helmet off roughly, dropping it to the floor unceremoniously, and buries his eyes against his gloved palms. Sobs of relief, guilt, and grief for his friend shake his shoulders. 

Cara doesn’t say a word cause there’s nothing to say. She doesn’t hold him or crowd him because she understands that’s the last thing he needs. She moves to sit behind him on the couch, her back touching his lightly. She’s not leaning on him, but he knows that she’s there. He knows she’s not watching him, letting him have company without the weight of eyes on his face. 

The tears pass and Din leans back, able to breathe for what seems like the first time in weeks.

“That is the craziest stunt you’ve ever pulled,” he says to her, the back of his head knocking lightly against hers.

“I don’t know, running at an AT-ST with half a plan and your pulse rifle was pretty crazy.”

Din laughs dryly. 

“Hey, do Mand’alor’s get time off for honeymoons? We could go to Nucao, catch a cage fight or two--get into a cage fight or two.”

She feels his shoulders actually shake with laughter this time.

“You know,” she says, reaching back to pull at his elbow until he gives her his hand to squeeze, “you and your little green goblin are all the family I have left.” 

Din squeezes her hand back and she knows all the things he’s trying to say with that one action: I know, I’m sorry, thank you, you infuriate me, I love you, and you are some of the last family I have left too.

* * *

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Nanyin for the delicious challenge. This was tough to write but very fun.
> 
> EDIT: All the wonderful comments inspired me to come back re-read this story and--oh, boy--I found quite a few grammatical and spelling mistakes. Yuck! I really gotta get better at this editing thing.


End file.
